Lords Took and Lowly
by Caboose
Summary: This is a story of a family of peasants from Rohan and what they experienced in the War of the Ring. It will (hopefully) span the days prior to the battles at the Fords of Isen, Helm's Deep, and breaking the Siege of Minas Tirith.
1. Of the House of Mundburgson

Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings_ and all related people, places, things, and poems are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm using them without permission. The original characters are "mine" in that I named them, but they still belong to Tolkein because they existed in his Rohan but were never important enough to earn names in his work.

Author's Note: I attempted to write this in a Tolkienesque fashion and humbly think I managed to succeed to a degree. I know this probably belongs in the "Lord of the Rings" section of , but I know there it would be quickly drowned in a sea of Mary-Sues and Gary-Stues and other bad fanfics, and I think this deserves better than that. It also references a whole lot of stuff from the various appendices at the end of _Return of the King _that only folks who know their Tolkien would understand. One last thing--my muse is a fickle one, so I can't guarantee that I'll be able to finish this story. I promise to do my best, though.

**Lords Took and Lowly**

_Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that  
__was__ blowing?  
__Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair  
__flowing  
__Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire  
__glowing  
__Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn  
__growing  
__They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind  
__in__ the meadow;  
__The days have gone down in the West behind the hills  
__into__ shadow.  
__Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,  
__Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?_

**_Of the House of Mundburgson_**

Of old, Aldred Mundburgson, soldier of Gondor, was Aldred Halethson, soldier of Rohan, and he called the Westfold his country. But the days of Aldred's youth were also the days of King Fengel of Rohan, a man who cared more for food and gold than honor and valor. In Gondor, Ecthelion the Second reigned as Steward of the lost King, and he was a man both wise and noble. To bolster the waning strength of his kingdom, the Steward proclaimed far and wide that all men skilled in the arts of war would be welcomed in Gondor, if they pledged their swords to the service of the Steward. Therefore, when word of this reached Aldred Halethson's ears, Aldred happily left the service of his lord Fengel. After making the long journey to Minas Tirith, or Mundburg as it was known among the Rohirrim, Aldred pledged his sword to Gondor. Ecthelion the Second received his sword and made him a soldier of Gondor. Thereafter, did Aldred change his name to Mundburgson, in honor of his new country.

Mundburg proved more akin to Helm's Deep, the great fortress of the Westfold, than anything else Aldred had ever called home. The great stone city with its gates of steel and iron, and its roads of stone, and the absence of anything that grew or was green weighed heavily on Aldred. For a time, he regretted his choice and nearly repented of swearing his fealty to the Steward. However, the efforts of a certain fair maiden helped him grow accustomed to the new life he had chosen.

She was Imloth, daughter of Hirluin the innkeeper. _The King's Chalice_, as the inn was known, lay nigh the barracks of Aldred's company, and he went oft there to drown his sorrows in Hirluin's fine mead. Oft did he spy her there, and oft did she fill his mug, and slowly a friendship grew between them. Hirluin at first was not pleased, for Imloth was his only daughter and he was loathe to see her give her heart to one of the Rohirrim when there were other men of Númenorean blood to be had. In time, as Aldred's service would allow, a great love developed between the two, and Hirluin took kindly to Aldred when he saw their love, seeing that he could not prevent it and that Aldred was as noble as any in Gondor he might have chosen. So, with the blessing of Hirluin, Aldred and Imloth were married shortly before the arrival of Thorongil, a man who would become the most beloved of all the Captains of Gondor.

The blood of Easterlings, Southrons, and orcs stained Aldred's blade many times through the years in his service to Steward Ecthelion, and in time, Imloth bore him a son, whom they named Déored, as a remembrance both of Rohan and Déored, sire of Aldred, who served and fell with the sons of Folcwine at the Crossings of the Poros in the days of the Steward Turgon II, sire of Ecthelion II.

Déored grew to manhood in Mundburg, the only son of his father and mother, and listened with joy to the tales of his father's adventures with Captain Thorongil. When Déored was old enough, Aldred began teaching him the art of swordplay, but though Déored showed promise, he also showed an interest in the forging of the blades and armor. So Aldred arranged for Déored to be apprenticed to Baranor, his company's weapon smith. (It is interesting to note that Baranor was the sire of Beregrond, who afterwards became Captain of the White Company, the Guard of Prince Faramir of Ithilien, and who in turn sired Bergil, friend of Peregrin the Halfling.)

Déored did not show as much promise at forging as he had at swordplay, but through the skillful teachings of Baranor, Déored became a good apprentice, and from there, an accomplished smith. Though not famed for his work, he was nonetheless held in high esteem by the men of his father's company, for they esteemed his work as good as that of his master.

However, as the years and skills of Déored waxed, the years of his father slowly waned after the fashion of men not of Númenorean blood. Déored had only just come to manhood and married Miriel of Mundburg when his father passed from this realm, being seventy and five years of age and having lived a full life.

This happened in the days King Théoden of Rohan, before his bewitchment at the hands of Gríma Wormtongue, and after Denethor the Second had become Steward of Gondor in his father's stead. There was little love between the Steward and those of Aldred's generation, who remembered Captain Thorongil with love, for the Steward had long mistrusted the great Captain, though he had long ago departed Gondor and gone no man knew whither.

Therefore, it was Aldred's wish that he be buried in beneath the long grass of the Westfold, his home of old. Déored obeyed the wishes of his father and, because of the Steward's mistrust of Aldred, Déored also renounced his service to the Steward. Denethor the Second gladly freed Déored from his service, and paid him a small weregild for his and his father's service to Gondor. Thus did Déored and his small household (for he had as yet no children and only his wife and mother to care for) leave Mundberg and make the long journey northwards and westwards to the Westfold, where his father's brother Elfred and his family dwelt.

A mound was raised for Aldred near that of his parents and Elfred, for Elfred (being some three years older) had died the previous year. Déored pledged his forge and his blade to the service of King Théoden, who gladly accepted both. Thus it was that Déored Mundburgson became Déored of Rohan and mustered with the Rohirrim as a soldier of Erkenbrand of Westfold. Because of his service in Gondor, Déored was made a captain of twelve in the éored of his village.

In time, Miriel bore Déored a son, and they named him Thorongil, after the man whom Aldred and indeed all of Gondor had loved so dearly. Thus, like his father before him, Déored chose his son's name as a reminder of the land of his birth. When Thorongil was six, Miriel bore another child, this time a daughter, and they named her after the great forest in the south of Rohan, and she was called Firien.

As Thorongil grew slowly to manhood and his sister to womanhood, Rohan's borders became increasingly harried by orcs and Dunlendings and great wargs from the north. Like his father before him, Thorongil became an apprentice smith and learned quickly the art of forging blade and hauberk, helm and shield. About this time, Imloth joined her husband in the Halls of Men beyond the Great Sea, having lived to the age of ninety because of the blood of Númenor which flowed in her veins.

When Thorongil had seen his fifteenth winter, the great War of the Ring began. What follows this brief family history is an account of the fates of the family of Mundburgson, as recorded by Aldred Garulfson, grandson of Déored Mundburgson.


	2. Grave Tidings

Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings_ and all related people, places, things, and poems are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm using them without permission. The original characters are "mine" in that I named them, but they still belong to Tolkein because they existed in his Rohan but were never important enough to earn names in his work.

Author's Note: My apologies to whoever's read and enjoyed the first chapter and has been waiting for more. Thanks to a computer crash, I lost all my files. Fortunately, my good friend and proofreader Nabiki still had these chapters floating around on her computer, and I just recently got them back. So, to whoever's read the fic and enjoyed it so far, thank you for your patience. Now then, on with the story.

**Lords Took and Lowly**

**_Grave Tidings_**

It was during the reign of King Thengel that the treachery of Saruman first made itself manifest, for it was then that he declared himself Lord of Isengard. Orc bands began harrying the borders of Rohan, and so too did occasional troops of Dunlendings. But it was difficult to distinguish Saruman's hand in this, for orcs had multiplied in the Misty Mountains again after the great Dwarf and Goblin War, and the wilderness east of Rivendell had grown full of perils. Wargs there were also, come down from the north, and they filled the northern plains with terror. Dunlendings, too, were no stranger to the western borders of Rohan, having raided ever and anon across the Isen since they were last driven from Rohan in the days of King Fréaláf. Peril encroached from the eastern borders as well, as the Dark One sent forces of great uruks westward to steal the horses of the Rohirrim.

When Erkenbrand was declared Lord of Westfold, being wise and reading the signs known to all, he therefore removed his seat to the great fortress of Helm's Deep and set about preparing it for days of war and great evil, which he felt must surely come ere Rohan saw true peace once again. Helm's Deep had fallen into neglect in the wellnigh one hundred and fifty years of peace that Rohan saw after the destruction of the last orc-hold in the days of King Folca. A garrison still dwelt there, but it was a token force unfit for any duty save repelling small bands of roving orcs or Dunlendings, or wargs if any came so far southwest. Time had gnawed the stones of the great wall and high tower, and the elements had gained many footholds in rocks damaged by stone-cast in long-ago battles. Small saplings grew from many points on the battlements, and in others, whole stones had crumbled to dust. Helm's Gate was but an arch and barricade defended from above, and the doors into the mountain stronghold were rotten in many places, and their hinges rusty. Only enough provision and arms were stored in the fortress for the small garrison, and the arms were in poor condition. Seeing therefore that much labor was required to return Helm's Deep to its proper condition, Erkenbrand set about it at once.

But the skills of the men in his household and in the garrison were limited to the arts of war, and moreover, there were not enough to speedily repair the keep and outwall, had any of those in the fortress possessed the needed crafts. Therefore, Erkenbrand devised a system for repairing the Deep. He decreed that at the end of each autumn, as many carpenters, smiths, and masons as could be spared from the towns and villages of the Westfold should bring themselves and their families to Helm's Deep, so that their skills might be used to make the fortress strong as it had been in the days of their longfathers of old. Erkenbrand declared, too, that all those who farmed and raised herds should donate a portion of each harvest and slaughtering season to the fortress, so that the fortress might once again have provision sufficient enough to endure a long siege. Those of the farmers who felt their harvests or herds were not large enough to allow such a tithe were to move to Helm's Deep with the masons and carpenters and smiths, and to assist with the labors of repairing the fastness.

There were many in the Westfold who grumbled against these decrees, and feared lest Erkenbrand would prove to be a greedy and slothful lord as King Fengel had many years past. But as the orcish and Dunlendish raiders grew more and more bold, striking farther and farther in from the borders, they began to see that their lord was wise in demanding such sacrifices of them. All knew the story of Helm Hammerhand and the Fell Winter that forced him to seek refuge in the fortress that bore his name, and such were the times that many began to be afraid lest the Mark be once again overrun by its enemies. So they made their yearly pilgrimages and donated what they could of their farms to the great larders of the fortress with less complaint.

These decrees were issued only shortly after the birth of Déored's son Thorongil, and thus it was that Thorongil grew up spending the winter months in the stone fastness of Helm's Deep as Déored labored as a smith for his lord Erkenbrand. Erkenbrand, being the wise man that he was, divided the labors of the masons and carpenters and smiths up as best he could among those who answered his summons. Some of the masons worked to quarry stone for repairs, while others shaped those stones and placed them. Some carpenters worked to build newer and stronger doors for Helm's Gate and the other entryways into the fortress, while others fashioned spear-shafts and axe-hafts and arrows, and shields, and all manner of other things. Some of the smiths labored in the making of hinges and locks and sheets of armor for the great doors, while others fashioned hauberks, and still others fashioned axe-blades and spearheads and all manner of other weapons of war. It had come into the mind of Erkenbrand that all who sought refuge in the Hornburg should be armed if driven to the uttermost brink, and so the task of creating that great store of arms and armor became as important as the repair of the walls and tower. Déored, being renowned in the Westfold for his skills as a weapon- and armorsmith, labored in the crafting of hauberks and helms and swords for the great store of weapons, and was aided in this labor by Thorongil, after the boy had seen his tenth summer and become apprentice to his father.

But Erkenbrand did not strengthen Helm's Deep only; as best he could, he prepared all the Westfold for war. He set five éoreds of his best riders at the Fords of Isen, to patrol as far into the lands of Saruman as they deemed wise. He strung other éoreds along his borders also, as jewels on a necklace, and caused them to erect small works of defense about their camps. Others he sent with the blessing of Prince Théodred into the West-March and into the Westemnet. Those that remained he divided among the cities, towns, and villages of the Westfold. To each large village, or group of small villages, he sent a garrison of thirty men, with orders to train all men and lads able to bear arms in the art of war, so that the villagers might aid in the defense of their homes. Sixty men he sent to the small towns, and the same orders, and the large towns were given a garrison of a full éored and the same orders to aid the garrison as they could.

Déored Mundburgson and his family lived in a small town of the Westfold, garrisoned by sixty men of the éored of Éomund, under the command of captain Fastred. Captain Fastred recognized Déored's worth as a warrior and a leader of men, and so made him a captain of twelve in the éored of the town. As a badge of his rank, Déored was given a helm of the Captains of the Mark, with a nose-guard in the shape of a horse's head, and a plume of horsetail upon the top, and the emblem of his house set in the cheek-guards. When young Thorongil came of age, he joined his father as a soldier of the town éored and was given the simple helm of a Rider of Rohan.

Thus did the Lord Erkenbrand prepare his realm for days of war and great evil, and thus it was that the family of Déored Mundburgson came to be at Helm's Deep during Thorongil's fifteenth winter, during the early days of the great War of the Ring.

The sun rose on a chill, pale morning of late February and revealed a small band of horsemen approaching the fortress. Workmen and masons worked still on the innermost portions of the wall and the uppermost reaches of the great tower. The great doors of Helm's Gate, but a few years old, stood shut fast. Sentries patrolled about the wall, and from behind them rose the smoke of many forges as the smiths prepared for their day's work. The head of the riders bore a shield with a mark known to all, that of Prince Théodred. Garothain, chief of the watch, swiftly ordered that the gates be opened and that Erkenbrand be summoned to a council with the prince.

It was but a few hours later when soldiers of the garrison began going among the smiths and masons and carpenters, telling them that Erkenbrand had a pressing matter to discuss with them and that their work must end. Déored and Thorongil, having only just gotten their furnace hot enough to start their work, were loathe to leave it but obeyed their lord's command.

The workmen gathered in the great hall of the fortress, and were surprised to find that the garrison had been assembled also. At seeing this, many began to murmur, wondering what the purpose of this council was to be. Erkenbrand and Théodred were already there, discussing things in soft voices at the head of the room. Once all were assembled in the hall, the two captains ceased their private talk.

'Men of the Westfold,' began Erkenbrand, 'Prince Théodred has just arrived, bearing grave tidings.' With that, Erkenbrand yielded his position to the prince.

'Our scouts out beyond the western borders of the Mark report that a great host is on the march from Isengard.'

At this, the murmurings that had been hushed by Erkenbrand's opening remarks began anew. Théodred held up a hand and the room was swiftly silent once more.

'They make for the Fords of Isen, and in such numbers as have not been seen in years beyond count. It is clear they have come to conquer or to die. I have ridden here with all the strength I could muster, and indeed Grimbold now leads my éoreds westwards to the river, but I fear more men are needed. Therefore, I have come to Helm's Deep to ask Erkenbrand to marshal the strength of the Westfold, and to release as many as he deems possible from duty here.' After having thus spoken, Théodred yielded the floor to Erkenbrand.

'You now know the reason you were summoned here, men of the Westfold. Those among you who are masons, and carpenters, and smiths, and farmers, know that in great need you shall be called upon to serve the Lords of the Mark, and such is the hour and the need. However, I know that your skills are not with the blade and the spear, but rather your tools, so I give you this choice: You may ride with Prince Théodred and myself to the Fords of Isen with the garrison of the Hornburg, or you may remain here and take the place of the garrison.'

At this, even Théodred was amazed, and he objected, saying, 'But who shall command the defense of the Hornburg, if you join us at the Fords?'

'Gamling, the chief-captain of the Helmingas, as he has named the garrison, shall command the defense in my absence, should the hosts of Isengard cross the Isen,' answered Erkenbrand.

Thus answered, the prince withdrew his objection and Erkenbrand spoke again to the assembled men. 'We shall not ride for the Fords ere two days hence, for I have dispatched riders to the far corners of the Westfold to gather the strength of our scattered people. Choose you between now and then where you will serve, but get you to the armory for weapons and armor ere then, so that you may be prepared. Craftsmen, I release you now from your labors on the fortress, until this threat from Isengard is ended. Go among your families and give them these tidings, and prepare to depart from them, if that be your choice.' Having thus spoken, Erkenbrand and Théodred departed from the great hall, with Gamling and the garrison following.

A deep silence lay about the hall after the last footsteps of the soldiers faded, and the men there gazed about with downcast faces, unable to believe what they had just heard. After a while, a few managed to mutter, 'So the warnings of Erkenbrand have come true. War is upon us.' But soon, the melancholy of the craftsmen gave way to boldness, for while they were no soldiers, the men of Rohan were still hardy and a proud people, trained in the arts of war. The murmurings of disbelief were soon replaced by bold words of the slaughter that the Rohirrim would wreak upon the orcs at the Fords, and the men disbursed, laughing and attempting to outdo one another with their boasting.

Déored and Thorongil, however, did not leave, for Déored had become lost in thought.

'Father?' asked Thorongil, 'Should we not find mother and Firien and bring them these tidings?'

Déored nodded and said, 'Yes, we must. Come with me, Thorongil.'

The two went slowly from the great hall and made their way towards the deep caverns and grottos in the mountains behind the Deeping Wall, where the families of the craftsmen and farmers made their homes throughout the long, bleak winter. When they reached their small lamp-lit space, Miriel awaited them, while Firien lay upon her bed, playing with a ragged doll, her favorite toy. Miriel stood as though carven of the very stone of the cave.

'You have heard the tidings?' Déored asked.

'Yes, my love, I have,' she answered. 'The Host of Isengard marches for the Fords Isen, and Prince Théodred rides to meet them with all the strength of the Westfold that can be mustered.'

'You know that Lord Erkenbrand has sent riders to marshal all able men and strong lads to the Deep, and that he will ride hence in two days' time?' he asked.

'Yes, husband. Will you ride to battle at the Fords, or man the walls of the Deep, as Lord Erkenbrand has said men may do, if they do not wish to ride?'

Déored sighed. 'That choice is yet before me, my darling wife,' he said, stroking her ebon hair.

She smiled, but it was full of sadness. 'You are my beloved husband,' she said, laying a hand upon his cheek, 'and the son of your father. Your liege lord has summoned you to battle, and your honor demands that you go.'

He nodded, taking her small hand in his. 'You know me too well, Miriel, my love. I will ride to the Fords with my lord and my prince.'

'What of our son?'

'I am nearly a man grown, and a soldier of the town éored. I would be ashamed to be left here, mother,' said Thorongil.

Miriel turned to her firstborn, the same sad smile upon her lips. 'You are near a man grown, as you say, but you are still my child,' she said, brushing his face lightly with her fingertips.

'You may be near a man grown, Thorongil, but you are green as the summer grass,' said Déored with a shake of his head. 'When we ride for the Isen, we ride to battle, and glory, and perhaps death. Captain Fastred and I have taught you well in the arts of war, but those were mere games.' He sighed. 'My heart tells me the struggle on the Isen will be long and bloody, and victory doubtful. I would have you stay here, to guard the Deep and look after your mother and sister, should the battle go ill.'

'But I wish to fight!' cried Thorongil.

'And you may, my son, should Saruman's horde win the Fords of Isen. Helm's Deep is a strong place, and hither will we come, should the enemy break through, and they shall follow after.'

Miriel gazed on her husband in fear at this. 'But the Deep has never been assailed successfully, not even in the Fell Winter when all the Mark was overrun! Surely the Hosts of Isengard do not number enough to take the fastness!'

'Prince Théodred said the scouts reported a host larger than any seen in years uncounted, my wife,' answered Déored. 'But be not afraid! Saruman's thralls must first win the Fords of Isen, if they are to invade the Mark, and Prince Théodred will see that they cross not at all, or that they pay dearly for the crossing.'

'So I am to remain here, father?' asked Thorongil.

'Yes, my son. You have not yet been tempered in battle, and like a flawed sword, you might shatter at the first blow struck,' he replied.

'Do you doubt my courage?' Thorongil demanded, cheeks flushing with anger.

'No, Thorongil, I do not doubt your courage. If you lacked courage, you would never have wished to ride with the prince. I doubt only your skill of arms.'

'Though you yourself trained me, as Grandfather Alfred did you?' the boy demanded.

'The training yard and open battle are worlds apart, my son, and orcs are savage foes. This is not a matter open for further discussion, Thorongil,' said Déored firmly. 'You will remain here and join the Helmingas.'

'Would it not be better if both went, or both stayed?' asked Miriel. 'For what seasoned soldier shall look after Thorongil, should battle come here and you not?'

'I need no looking after!' Thorongil hissed, anger flashing in his eyes.

Déored struck him. 'You will not speak to your mother in such a way!' he growled. 'I have taught you better than that. You will apologize. Now.'

'Yes father,' sighed Thorongil. He took his mother in his arms and kissed her, saying, 'I should not have spoken to you like that.'

'You are forgiven,' Miriel said, holding him close for a long while before releasing him.

'I shall ask if Thorongil might join the company of my friend Déorwine. Would that comfort you?' Déored asked.

'It would, my husband.'

'And would you be ashamed to fight beside Déorwine, my son?'

'No, father, I would not,' answered Thorongil, and he meant it, for Déorwine was a fine soldier and had taught Thorongil much in their winters at the Deep.

Déored nodded. 'So be it. Come, Thorongil, we must speak with Lord Erkenbrand,' he said as he turned and departed the grotto.

Miriel watched them depart, a black shape silhouetted against the light of the lamps. Upon the bed, Firien continued her play.


	3. The Armory

Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings_ and all related people, places, things, and poems are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm using them without permission. The original characters are "mine" in that I named them, but they still belong to Tolkein because they existed in his Rohan but were never important enough to earn names in his work.

Author's Note: This is as far as I've gotten in the story. I still want to finish it, but as I said, my muse is a fickle thing, and right now, it doesn't apparently give a damn about this fanfic project. Please forgive what may be an extensive delay between this chapter and the following ones. Now then, on with the story.

**Lords Took and Lowly**

**_The Armory_**

'Father, if orcs hate the sunlight, how can they be on the march?' asked Thorongil.

Déored did not answer for a space, for he did not truly know the answer. 'Perhaps our scouts spotted them at night,' he suggested. 'But Saruman is also a wizard of great power, and perhaps it is within his power to grant orcs some measure of protection against the light of day.'

Thorongil frowned. 'But that would remove one of our chief advantages over them, for are they not easiest to slay in full daylight?'

Déored nodded. 'That is what your grandsire always told me. But it matters little, for we have a yet greater advantage over them: we shall be upon horseback and they on foot. My father told me many tales wherein small forces of mounted men could sweep soldiers on foot numbering more than twice as many before them as leaves in a storm.'

At this, Thorongil frowned. 'But how is that possible?'

Déored laughed. 'Imagine, for a moment, the sight of a body of horsemen, spears lowered, charging at full gallop, and that you are armed with but a sword and shield. What would you do?'

Thorongil flushed. 'I would flee for my life, or die in the attempt. That was a foolish question for me to ask, father,' he answered, a sheepish grin upon his face.

Déored clapped his son on the shoulder and smiled. 'Yes, that was a foolish question, but you are young yet; there is no shame in a little foolishness.'

They continued the long walk to Lord Erkenbrand's chambers in silence. Men of the garrison filled all the halls around them, carrying orders or provisions hither and thither, as the fortress was prepared for the siege that might yet come. Without, the tumult of the blacksmiths moving their forges could be heard, and that of the stone masons destroying the scaffolding around the walls and tower of Helm's Deep. They could also hear the clash of arms as men of the garrison drilled in the courtyard below.

The wardens at the doors of Lord Erkenbrand's chamber stopped them. 'None shall pass unless they bear dispatches from Prince Théodred or Lord Commander Gamling,' they said, crossing their spears before the doors.

'Our pardons, sirs,' said Déored with a small bow. 'Might I inquire where the Lord Commander may be found?' he asked.

'Lord Commander Gamling is in the armory, overseeing the armament of the farmers and craftsmen,' said one.

'We shall seek him there. Our thanks,' replied Déored, and together he and Thorongil took their leave.

They descended into the depths of the fortress, the stairs winding down through bare rock or hewn stones cunningly shaped together, torches flickering in sconces lining the walls. Ever and anon someone they would meet someone ascending the staircase, a helm upon their head, a sword girt about their waste, a shield slung across their back, a hauberk upon their soldiers. Other times, men of the garrison ascended bearing the great ash spears of the Rohirrim, or quivers of arrows. Whether meant for those riding to the Fords of Isen or those remaining behind, neither Déored nor Thorongil could tell.

As they drew nigh to the armory, they could hear the clamor of many voices, and they could soon see a crowd of people in the corridor outside the without, most unarmed and unarmored. Déored found his good friends Dúnhere and Déorwine among the crowd, already armed and armored. They were soldiers of Erkenbrand's éored, Dúnhere a swift scout and Déorwine a guard of the Hornburg. Déored had become friends with them through his winters at Helm's Deep. They and a few other soldiers shepherded the craftsmen and farmers into and out of the armory, in as orderly a fashion as was possible.

'Ah, so there you are Déored!' called Dúnhere in greeting. 'And I see your son has come, too. Shall you ride with us to the Fords, or will you skulk behind high walls with cowards like Déorwine here?' he asked, jabbing Déorwine in the ribs and smiling broadly.

Déored clasped hands with his two friends before answering. 'I shall join you, my friend, but this battle is not one to test the mettle of a new-forged sword,' he said.

Dúnhere looked at the smith in puzzlement. 'Young Thorongil is near a man grown, and well trained of his father. Why say you he is new-forged?' he asked.

'I have not seen battle yet, sir,' answered Thorongil. 'My father thinks it unwise that someone as young as I ride out to meet the Hosts of Isengard.'

Dúnhere smiled at this, and tousled Thorongil's hair. 'There is no shame in having a father that loves you, boy, and don't you forget it,' he said. 'The best riders of Westfold will be gathered to face the swords of Isengard, the Lord Erkenbrand and Prince Théodred among them, and yet many of them will not ride back. It will be a bloody business, and as he said, no place for the untried. You are young yet, and will have many chances to prove your valor.'

'You have arms and hauberks,' said Déorwine suddenly. 'Why have you come?'

'To speak with Lord Commander Gamling, but I will not ride into battle with naught but a sword to hand,' answered Déored.

'What need have you to speak with the Lord Commander?' asked Déorwine. 'All who ride for the Fords need only muster without the Deeping Wall in two days, and all who will stay behind need only stay behind.'

'But I wish Thorongil to be placed in your company, my friend, so that someone might look after him should the need arise.'

'Consider him it done, my friend,' said Déorwine. 'I shall look after your son, should the battle at the Fords turn ill and the enemy assail the Hornburg,' he said, clapping his hands on Déored's shoulders.

'I am in your debt, my friend,' answered Déored solemnly.

'No, for even if you had not asked it of me, still would I have fought beside Thorongil if needs be,' replied Déorwine. 'I know what it is to lose a son, and I would not wish such a sorrow even upon an orc.' The cold sleep had taken Déorwine's son Horn the winter past, when Horn was caught upon the heath gathering wood as a great blizzard began.

'Still, I thank you all the same,' said Déored.

Dúnhere looked towards the doors and saw that they were almost within the armory. 'But alas, here we must part company, for Déorwine and I are shepherds, and as you can see, there are many more sheep behind you to be led to the fold.'

The two soldiers took their leave and moved off, into the crowd that had formed behind them since their arrival. Déored and Thorongil filed into the armory and joined the throng waiting for arms. Déored took for himself the spear of a rider, for he disliked having but one weapon to fight with when mounted. Thorongil took up an axe at his father's behest, so that he need not worry about finding a new weapon in the heat of battle should his sword break. Helms they had, and shields also, and their swords and mail, for they rode always armed to the Hornburg in autumns, lest wargs or orcs or Dunlendings set upon them on a sudden. For good or ill, such an attack never came, and thus Thorongil had yet to draw his blade in anger. Together, father and son departed with their gear of war, giving Dúnhere and Déorwine good morrow as they started back up the spiraling stairs.

They spent the day behind the Deeping Wall, drilling with men of the garrison and such craftsmen and farmers and strong lads as were there. Thorongil fought with hide-blunted axe and sword until his body ached from unblocked blows. Déored fought similar battles with men of the garrison, and worked his horse to a lather riding down the straw targets with his long spear, or hacking at them with blunted sword as he galloped past. And all the while they trained, more joined them. They came in companies small and large, the men and strong lads of the Westfold, and all their families and whatever livestock and provision they had gathered in their haste. Many of the men and older lads had shields strapped to their saddles, and many did not. Some wore helms and hauberks, while others wore helms and leather jerkins. Some had naught but a blade and half helms of steel and leather. All the day long came a steady stream of mounted men up the causeway, and through the great doors of Helm's Gate, and from thence down into the fastness of the Hornburg, to join in the drill, or seek better weapons or armor from the great armory that Déored and the other smiths had labored these long winters to fashion. And as men drilled, so too did others labor, and the women and children and animals were led into safety of the caves behind the Deeping Wall.

Rubble from building was piled piece by piece along the battlements overlooking the causeway and Helm's Gate, to be hurled downward on any foes advancing that way. Spears, too, were piled thus against the battlements and down the length of the Deeping Wall. Arrows innumerable were placed in barrels and buckets for the use of the archers, and fresh torches and barrels of pitch were also placed upon the wall for the night's watchmen.

The sun had long since sank behind the peaks of the Thrihyrne, and yet more and still more people of the Westfold poured slowly in through Helm's Gate. Watchfires burned upon the battlements, and the towers, and Déored knew that Lord Erkenbrand had set watches upon the ruined rampart of Helm's Dike, which stood across the coomb a mile or more from the Deeping Wall. Déored sat upon a cold stone, wrapped in an old blanket with a mug of hot cider in his hands, and watched. The great press of people, and animals, and the bustle of the fortress reminded him so very much of Minas Tirith, where he had been born, and raised, and taught the arts of the warrior and the smith, and where he had met his loving wife. He remembered his father's tales of adventures in far distant lands, and of the great Captain Thorongil, and his mother's soft hair and kind smile.

'How like home it is,' sighed Miriel, who sat beside him upon the rock, also cradling a mug of hot cider.

'Yes, yes it is so like home,' agreed Déored, placing an arm around her and pulling her close. 'I remember days and nights so like this one, when the army headed off to war, or returned victorious from battle, and how all the city came to farewell the soldiers or welcome them home. How oft was it that mother and I watched father depart, she afraid that each time would be his last, I proud to say my father was a man of the Citadel and hoping he would return with new tales of war to tell?' He sighed. 'Know you that this great press of people disturbed Thorongil?'

'No, husband, I had not, but does that truly surprise you? He grew up in the wide and empty spaces of Rohan, not the strong and crowded citadel of Minas Tirith.'

'True, very true. Recall how strange the emptiness of Rohan appeared to our eyes at first, and yet how this fortress that we had never before seen seemed to welcome us home that first winter…'tis strange that we should be so discomfited by emptiness, and so at home in a strange place,' answered Déored.

'Husband, what is it?' asked Miriel. 'You are not yourself this night.'

Déored sighed. 'I ride to war in a day's time, my love, and while this is not strange to me, for I started when I was little older than Thorongil, a shadow has been growing in my mind. My heart tells me that the coming battle will be great and terrible, even the greatest Rohan has seen since the Fell Winter. I do not fear to die, and yet something bodes ill. I know not how, and I know not why, but my heart tells me this war is even more than the final throw of the dice in a feud between two kingdoms.' He paused, and drank from his mug, and stared out at the fire-lit space of the Hornburg. 'For good or ill, all that we have come to know shall pass away, I fear.'

Miriel answered nothing, but lay her head upon his shoulder and placed her arms about him.


End file.
